


Acceptance

by anotherFMAfan



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 19:34:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherFMAfan/pseuds/anotherFMAfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was originally intended to be the first of seven, but now stands alone. </p><p>Spoilers for the 2003 anime.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Acceptance

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally intended to be the first of seven, but now stands alone. 
> 
> Spoilers for the 2003 anime.

Stage One: Shock

 

There was light coming in the window.

It was bright and fierce; the type of light that makes one wince to witness it. It spilled over the window-ledge onto the bed, sliding from there onto the dark wooden floor, lighting up a thousand scratches on its polished surface, imperfections masquerading as strands of liquid crystal. At some points during the day the sunlight was punctuated by the foliage of the oak tree that stood outside, shattering the strong beam into subdued dapples. Presently, however, the sun was unflinching.

“Did you hear me, sir?” she asked tentatively.

“Yes,” he replied.

Hawkeye was wearing her hair down.

She frequently did these days, when she came to visit. It would fall over either side of her shoulders, lying like strands of satin against her simple blouse. It was light and fine, her hair. He sometimes wished he could put his fingers through it, yet still suspected that, like many of the more beautiful things of the world, it would be ruined for his touch. When she leaned forward it streamed down toward him, pale blond rivers of color, falling endlessly.

“Do you understand? About Edward.”

“Yes,” he said again. He remembered the words she had said, though he wasn’t quite sure why they were so significant.

A slight breeze touched his face.

The window, by his request, was almost perpetually open, and breezes frequented this gateway into his so-recently closed existence. Often the air smelled simply fresh, like summer ought to, smelled like grass and trees and earth. Other times it carried the scent of Jean’s cigarette, wafted up from far below, which always made him smile. He dreaded the occasions when it smelled of nothing at all, when things were stagnant and still. Infrequently it smelled of rain, because on those days he closed the window.

“He doesn’t understand,” Riza said distantly, and her tone carried both pity and distress.

“He’s in shock,” stated an unfamiliar voice, which he found belonged to a stranger in a lab coat. “You may need to say it several times before it sinks in.” The man continued to speak, talking about symptoms of shock, and patted Hawkeye’s shoulder comfortingly before leaving the room.

The door was open.

Although he occasionally hated the hours it was closed, the doorway was a good thing, overall. It granted privacy with its wide, heavy wood and blocked out noise. It berthed Hawkeye when she came, and sometimes others he knew. The nurses and doctors came through it, bearing food or medicine or wanting some test. When it was left open, like now, it revealed a slice of the rest of the facility, busy staff hurrying by and a secretary at her desk, always shuffling papers, shuffling papers, answering the phone.

“Sir,” said Riza. “Edward is missing. His brother, Alphonse, was found restored to his human body. It’s likely Edward didn’t survive the transmutation.” He nodded to show her he understood.

Her hand was touching him.

She held his hand with a firm grip, smooth skin joined with his. So much smaller, but quite strong; it was beautiful, a woman’s graceful wrist leading into her long slender fingers. When he squeezed her gently, he could feel the calluses from her pistol, a slightly different, thinner set from her rifle—

“ _Roy,_ ” she said, this time tinged with ragged desperation, and he looked up.

“I need you to understand. Edward is dead. He’s _dead_ , Sir, he’s _never coming back_.”

“Yes,” he said dutifully.

“ _No!_ ” Her voice wrenched, and abruptly she covered her eyes with one hand. “I need you to understand this. Edward is dead. I know how much he…how much you cared about him, far more than the rest of us, even when you shouldn’t, and--” she took a great breath- “I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to _help_ when you finally realize what I’m saying. This isn’t like losing a soldier, this is like losing…” She trailed off, looking at him helplessly with those deep, rich red eyes.

“Like losing a son,” she finished quietly, almost a whisper.

“Yes,” he agreed again, turning toward the breeze, and was distantly aware of Hawkeye’s grip becoming tighter as she tried to stifle her tears.

There was light coming in the window….

* * * *


End file.
